


Pantomime Dreams

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Canon Era, Christmas, Crossdressing, Episode: s01e01 Currahee, Established Relationship, Fondling, Foreplay, M/M, Nudity Under Water, Period-Typical Crossdressing, Theatre, Unresolved Sexual Tension, no actual smut, pantomime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: When Bull volunteers for a bit part in the Aldbourne Christmas play, he's not prepared for how invested Johnny gets in his character.
Relationships: Johnny Martin/Bull Randleman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme, Picture_Prompt_Fun





	Pantomime Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Thrilling Detective Tales for beta reading and advice.
> 
> Written for the Loose Lips Sink Ships prompt meme: "Sometimes he just wants to feel pretty." And for Picture Prompt Fun's [challenge #136](https://picture-prompt-fun.dreamwidth.org/113862.html).

Meehan proved that he had a hundred times Sobel's grasp of the common trooper's motivation when he told Easy that any man who volunteered to participate in the Aldbourne Christmas pantomime would get rehearsal evenings off and a two-day pass when the show was done. Half the company volunteered on the spot, and the other half looked liked they wished they had the guts.

"What do you figure this is about?" Bull asked Johnny as they both stepped forward.

"Dunno," Johnny answered, "but I want that pass."

"All right," Bull said.

"Best behaviour, boys," Meehan said and sent them all off to the church to deal with the mayor's wife.

It worked out that Mrs. Keller had been hoping for about a dozen volunteers, not the platoon who showed up. "Well, do any of you boys have experience in the theatre?" she asked.

There was a general shuffling of jump boots.

"Theatre?" Perco asked.

Webster raised his hand, looking smug.

They worked out, eventually, that they'd just volunteered for bit parts in some kind of comedy play, which had a "long tradition in the English theatre," and involved a lot of very complicated rules that, "you boys don't need to worry about." It all sounded a bit silly to Bull, but he was with Johnny on wanting the pass. They lost about a squad's worth of guys when the explanation was forthcoming, but Bull and Johnny stayed on their pew, waiting for Mrs. Keller to cast the parts.

Most of them ended up either being King's Guards or henchmen. Muck and Pankala were two halves of a donkey, which Malarkey laughed at right until Mrs. Keller picked him for a rooster. Bull shifted uneasily. As much as he talked about the farm back in Arkansas, he'd had his fill of barnyard animals by the time he left it at fourteen, and didn't want to be one in a play.

Mrs. Keller was looking at her list. "Now, we just have three roles left, and I'm sorry, boys, after that I'll have to let the rest of you go. But if you put your names on the list, I'll ring you up in a jiffy if we need a stand in."

Johnny sighed. "Worth a shot," he muttered. He glared at Muck, like it was his fault he got picked as a donkey's ass.

Webster, of course, got picked for the bandit king, which was the only decent roll so far. Johnny's scowl deepened.

Mrs. Keller glanced down at the book in her hand, and then looked over the three dozen paratroopers sitting in church pews like restless school boys. Her eyes passed over the rows, narrowing in assessment, then drifted back to Bull. "What's your name, Corporal?"

"Denver Randleman, ma'am," Bull said.

"'Denver.' How American. And your friend?"

Bull elbowed Johnny, who piped up with, "Sergeant John Martin, ma'am."

She wrote them on the list. Johnny punched Bull's knee in satisfaction. "You two will make darling wicked stepsisters," she said, and smiled benevolently. Bull wondered if she was holding the role of the evil step mother for herself. She had the malice down pat.

"It's meant to be funny," Bull said later. He was looking through the script book he and Johnny had been given to share. Mrs. Keller had said they would be doing a variation, but it would give them an idea of their roles. Bull hadn't been to many plays before he started seeing USO shows, but he got a pretty good idea of the kind of broad comedy required. He chewed on the end of his cigar and watched Johnny pace.

"You think she can tell?" Johnny demanded. "I don't like the way she smiled at us."

Bull had every confidence that no one could tell just by looking that he liked to get screwed by another guy, and was currently getting screwed by his sergeant. "I guess she had in mind that it'd be funny," Bull said again. He sighed, not really wanting to spell it out but tired of Johnny's nerves just the same. "You know, big fellow like me in a dress? Ha ha. And you was talking out of turn before. We'll just haveta be Laurel and Hardy for a couple nights."

"Oh." Johnny stopped and looked at Bull. He was still scowling but at least he wasn't making Bull dizzy just watching him. Their NCO's billet had all of five feet of free space, and Johnny had just about covered that twenty times. "No one oughta laugh at you," Johnny snapped.

"Y'all laugh at me all the time," Bull pointed out. So did Bill, and half the company really. Bull made sure to cultivate a placid, easygoing persona with a broad stroke of hayseed thrown in. It made things easier if people got what they expected looking at him.

"Yeah, but I'm allowed," Johnny said. He stepped into the space between Bull's spread knees and bumped his face against Bull's like a cat.

Bull tilted his head to catch Johnny's lips with his. It was the briefest kiss, the most they could risk in quarters, even with the door closed. "I don't mind it none, Johnny," Bull said. "It'll be worth the pass." He slid his hand up Johnny's thigh and palmed his ass, reminding him of what they could do with two days off base.

"Well I do mind," Johnny said, but Bull's touch had softened his voice. He took the book from Bull and glanced at the marked page disdainfully. "I ain't gonna be laughed at, and you ain't either."

Bull considered pursuing the definition of comedy, and that Johnny had volunteered to be in one, but decided there was no point getting into a fight he was going to lose.

* * *

Most of the costumes were battered old things from previous years. "The dame wore this two years ago, poor old dear," Mrs. Keller said, handing Bull a garish red and orange princess dress. It was made almost entirely of ruffles, and filled Bull's arms as he took it. It smelled of mothballs and a hint of mildew. If it didn't fit him, he could probably get Guarnere to let it out a bit just by shifting the layers around.

"What happened to the dame?" Bull asked.

"He was a major in the Royal Fusiliers," Mrs. Keller said, still frowning at Bull, as if the visiting Americans should know the military careers of every man in the town. Bull supposed that wasn't unfair to ask. "Killed in Tunisia."

"Sorry to hear it, ma'am," Bull said, pulling the dress a little tighter to his chest.

Mrs. Keller sucked her teeth and told Bull to go change, then she started rustling through trunks for something to fit Johnny.

The major must have been a bulky man, because the dress just about fit Bull. He couldn't figure out the lacing up the back, so let it be. The fabric clung oddly to his thighs, and even with his skivvies on, he felt like there was too much of a draught going on down there. The skirt only came down to mid-calf, and had a raggedy hem that showed more of Bull's hairy legs than his Ma would have thought was proper for a lady. There was no mirror in the changing cupboard, but from what Bull could tell looking down at himself, he looked every bit as ridiculous as Mrs. Keller had probably hoped. Bull couldn't say he minded too much. It was all in good fun, after all, but he knew that Johnny would be ready to spit tacks as soon as Bull stepped out.

Bull took a deep breath and stepped out of the cupboard, leaving his uniform behind him. Johnny had his arms full of something pink and just as frilly as Bull's costume, but the second he saw Bull, he passed it back to Mrs. Keller and came over, looking him up and down. Feeling awkward and a little stupid, Bull made himself uncross his arms and hold them out so that Johnny could examine the dress. Johnny circled Bull, making humming noises when he saw the gap up the back of his dress.

"That will lace over," Mrs. Keller said, and then they were both tugging at Bull's dress while he stood like a statue and tried not to think about what Johnny's knuckles brushing the skin of his back felt like. The shiny cloth pulled across Bull's back, making his skin tingle, and the draught across his back stopped. Then the laces pulled tight, making the whole thing snug around his body. "See, there it is. Perfect fit."

Johnny came around in front of Bull again, He put his hands over Bull's chest and pushed up, making Bull gasp, the fabric grabbed at his chest, making it look like he had small breasts. Bull was flushing scarlet, but Mrs. Keller tutted approvingly, telling Johnny that he really had a head for this. Bull glanced down at his chest, seeing blond hair catching the light and disappearing under the red neckline of the dress. He folded his arms across himself defensively.

"We can make it work," Johnny said. He smiled at Bull, his eyes telling Bull that he and Johnny were in on the kind of secret Mrs. Keller couldn't know anything about. Johnny stroked down Bull's sides, like he was smoothing his dress out, but his hands were warm through the flimsy fabric, and Bull felt his body start to heat. At least with so many layers to the skirts, any amount of turned on he felt wouldn't show. "Just like Cinderella," Johnny said.

"That's a lady's part," Mrs Keller corrected.

"But ain't he a lady?" Johnny asked. Bull hadn't stopped blushing by the time Johnny went to change.

Johnny's pink dress was too long, and he and Mrs. Keller argued about altering it versus tucking it up while Bull tried to figure out how to walk in the skirts. His feet were getting cold and goosebumps had raised along his bare arms, making the hair stand on end.

Wandering around the storage room, he found a mirror and looked himself up and down. He didn't look any less ridiculous than he'd thought he would. The dress clung to his square frame, clearly showing a man's body under it. Johnny's attempt to push his chest up was already sagging, and his whole body was too hairy, and his face was blunt-nosed and plain with an afternoon's stubble roughening his chin. Mrs. Keller had said something about a wig, but Bull couldn't see that making it any better. However, if his goal was to look silly, he'd certainly landed square in the middle of the drop zone.

He glanced back at Johnny, who was swirling his skirts around himself and complaining about hemlines. He appeared to be the only one of the three taking the situation at all seriously. Bull felt his chest tighten just listening to him, the affection in his heart growing until it was almost a physical object he could hold in his hands.

They soon moved onto arguing about boots, with Johnny objecting that Bull couldn't go barefoot, that he'd get cold, as if Bull hadn't run around barefoot for the first fourteen years of his life. Finally, Bull was allowed to change back, with Johnny saying he was happy. Bull caught a gleam in his eyes that told him there was more to come.

* * *

It was quiet through most of December. Rationing made Christmas a low-key affair, though people put up bits of holly and mistletoe, the real stuff, and a few had trees. The US servicemen's radio started playing carols. Those in the pantomime learned their lines, which varied between hackneyed and bawdy. Bull was actually starting to enjoy rehearsals, especially since he could usually do them in his service uniform. Johnny kept his head down and said his half-dozen lines when cued, and spent a lot of time in conference with the girl playing Prince Charming. It all made Bull wonder what was going on between his ears. It was something, Bull would bet his prospective two-day pass on that, but what exactly Bull couldn't have said.

He started to get an inkling of it the day of the first show. Meehan had given the day off to the dozen or so men taking part, and Bull had been fully planning to catch up on his sleep until they were expected to show up for costuming that evening. He was lying on his bunk in his long underwear, smoking a cigar and listing to the tinny echoes of Guarnere's record player when Johnny stomped in and demanded to know what the fuck he was doing.

Bull gestured vaguely with his cigar by way of answer, feeling that it was pretty obvious that he was doing as little as possible.

"Never mind, get dressed," Johnny said. He had his arms folded around a gunny sack of something, and looked like he was going to vibrate through the floor. His cheeks were pink and freshly shaven.

Bull rolled off the bed and started to hunt up his trousers. "Where we going?"

"Over to Alice Marshall's to get you done up."

"All right." Miss Marshall was Prince Charming, and Bull had very little idea why they needed her help. Johnny was the one who liked fighting for its own sake, and if you took him up, then he got what he wanted whether he won the argument or not.

It'd been blustery and cold the last few days, but stopped sleeting long enough for them to make the dash to the Marshalls’ on the other side of town. It was little bungalow like Johnny said he wanted to get with Pat someday. Mr. Marshall was the local Home Guard captain, and said something vague about making tea, as Miss Marshall hurried Bull and Johnny through the parlour and out of his sight. They ended up in the bathroom, which had the first actual bathtub Bull had seen in longer than he could remember.

"All yours," Miss Marshall said, and, "Call out when you need me."

Johnny nodded, and Bull looked at her questioningly. Miss Marshall blew Bull a kiss and shut the door. Johnny started to draw a bath.

Finally, Bull had to ask, "Okay, Johnny, what's going on?"

Johnny straightened, shaking the water off his hand before he turned to Bull and said belligerently, "We're going to make you the prettiest wicked step sister ever to step foot on a stage. They ain't going to laugh at you, 'cause they're going to be too busy trying to ask you out."

"Oh," Bull said, but couldn't think of a more coherent response. He'd long since reconciled to Johnny's possessiveness, but this was the first time he'd understood that included in that was this intensity of pride in ownership and protectiveness. Johnny's claim on him therefore looked like it was going to manifest in Johnny having decided that if Bull was _his_ fellow, than Bull would be the envy of all the guys in the company, no matter in what regard. Bull supposed he ought to have some kind of objection based on masculine pride, but instead the idea of Johnny trying to take care of him like that made his heart clench in a way he couldn't put words to. He supposed it felt good to be someone's best girl, even if he was strictly speaking neither one.

Not saying anything for such a long stretch had made Johnny antsy, and he'd started rocking back on his heels and looking up at Bull like he'd only now realised the he could have massively overstepped. "Bull," he said carefully, "If you don't want..."

"Naw," Bull said. He brushed his knuckles across Johnny's cheek. "You know I'll always follow where you lead."

Johnny huffed out a breath and nodded slightly. He kissed the inside of Bull's wrist before turning to the counter. He still had the gunny sack, and was pulling things out of it. Bull started to undress.

"What are we doing?" he asked. He supposed if nothing else, the bath was going to feel pretty good. He appreciated the barracks showers as much as the next man, but being immersed in hot water sounded like pure heaven. Johnny had poured it just right, a little too hot when Bull first stepped into it, but closing around him like a wool blanket and a hot drink by a fire once he settled in. The tub was even big enough to hold all of him, though his hips pressed against the sides. Bull closed his eyes and moaned softly, sinking down until just his nose was out of the water. When he finally got it, if he hadn't messed up too many things by then, Bull would go to heaven, and it would feel very much like this bath.

Johnny hadn't answered his question, but knelt next to Bull with a razor in one hand and a mug and brush in the other, so it wasn't too hard to work out. "Give me your leg," he said,

Bull lifted his right leg out of the bath, laying his ankle on the rim. Johnny stroked from his knee to his shin, smoothing down the hairs before starting a lather in the cup. Bull watched him do it. There was an odd passivity to this that Bull wasn't used to. He hadn't been shaved by another man since his pa had taught him, too long ago to remember, really. He supposed it wasn't different than holding still while Liebgott did his hair, but it felt different. The steamy air of the bathroom felt charged, like there was thunder rolling in, and the soft chunk of the handle of the brush on the sides of the cup made Bull's heart beat faster.

Finally, Johnny painted a strip of lather down the Bull's shinbone. His touch was so light, Bull could barely feel it, not even when Johnny took the razor and started to shave from top to bottom down Bull's calf.

"Won't be close," Bull murmured, sinking further into the bath.

"I know what I'm doing," Johnny admonished. The water swished as he cleared the razor. Bull closed his eyes.

Johnny's hand steadying Bull's ankle was an anchor against the unfamiliar feeling of the razor sliding down his shin, a slow stroke almost like a caress but more methodical. Johnny only went up to just above Bull's knee, leaving his thigh alone. When he'd finished, he started to work back up Bull's leg from the bottom, clearing out the last of the stubble. His palm slide over the newly shaved skin as he worked, the soap making it ghost over him, hardly seeming to touch Bull at all.

"Other leg," Johnny said, and Bull complied. The warm water closed over his smooth skin, stinging just a little. Bull had never considered razor burn on his legs before, and hoped Johnny knew what he was about. That was one rash he was not going to explain to the base hospital. The second leg went faster, Johnny seeming to have gotten the way of it. The way his hands were moving over Bull's skin like he owned it was starting to turn Bull on, and he wished they were somewhere they could do something about it.

"Only thing that'd improve this bath would be having you in here with me," Bull commented.

"I've been trying not to think about that," Johnny said. "Maybe when we're on leave some time."

"Yeah," Bull agreed. Sometimes it felt like his whole life was deferred until they were on leave some time, but he supposed it wasn't much different for the other guys, the ones who hadn't wrangled a girl in Aldbourne, at least.

Bull held up his arm without Johnny asking, and Johnny laced their fingers together as he worked to strip the hair off it. He had a small frown on his face as he focused on moving first the brush then razor across Bull's skin. Like the most important thing in the world was not nicking him. Bull shivered and had to look away when Johnny took hold of his elbow and raised his arm up to shave under it. The softness of the brush tickled a little, but mostly having Johnny's face so close to his, close enough that Bull could smell his hair, and hear the little ticks in his breath as he concentrated was suddenly too intimate. This felt like lying in bed together after a long, slow fuck. Johnny would play with Bull's chest hair, after, swirling his fingers over it until it twisted together. Bull could feel his heart start to beat harder, and knew that Johnny had to feel it too, as close as he was holding Bull.

Johnny was trying to make out that he didn't notice, but he kept shooting little glances at Bull's face now, testing his reactions. Son of a bitch liked that he was turning Bull on when neither of them could do anything about it, like putting his hands on Bull's thighs when they were on a train or somewhere, or whispering dirty things into his ear on a night march. Johnny could wind Bull up like a toy mouse until he was ready to beg for Johnny to take him when they were still days away from leave.

If Bull didn't like it so much, he'd have smacked Johnny stupid by now. As it was, he shifted his hips against the sides of the tub and tried to run his lines through his head instead of thinking about how hard he was getting.

"Sit up a bit, will you?" Johnny said. Bull did, but didn't work out that Johnny meant to shave his chest until he splayed a palm over Bull's heart, pushing him against the back of the tub.

"God," Bull moaned. The soft petting of the lather across his collarbones and down to just above his nipples might just as well have been across his dick, and the added pressure of the razor blade only made things worse. He looked over the edge of the tub and saw that Johnny's cock was tenting out his trousers. Bull had no idea how Johnny's hands were still so steady and calm, but he didn't pause, just kept working over Bull's skin until he'd scraped the upper half of his chest perfectly smooth.

"Out you get," Johnny said, when he was done. He set the razor down and ran his hands over Bull's chest, squeezing his palms across his nipples. Bull grunted and focused on not coming then and there, without Johnny having set a hand on his dick. He had to take a couple long, slow breaths before he could push himself up out of the bath, and even then his cock was still so hard it was actually starting to hurt.

His crotch was about the right height for Johnny to suck him off right there, and Bull could tell that Johnny was thinking that too. Johnny wet his lips, then looked away, pretending to have forgotten where the towel was.

Bull stepped out of the bath and started to dry himself off while Johnny fussed with cleaning the hair out of the tub. Running his hands over his own skin felt strange. Bull's palms had always been work-worn and rough, but he'd never noticed it so much as now when his whole body felt tender and sensitised. He rubbed his calves together thoughtfully, trying to pin down the sensation and how he felt about it. It felt as slippery as his skin, and Bull soon gave up on the idea. He took a fresh razor and shaved his face close. His skin was pink in the bathroom mirror, but he still looked like himself.

"You better put this on," Johnny said, handing Bull a tube of lotion. "I'm about to get carried away."

Bull nodded and rubbed cream up his legs and arms. It stung a little like the water had, but left his skin soothed after. It also smelled of roses, the real scent, not the alcohol bite of cheap perfume. Bull wondered where Johnny had found something so pleasant with rationing the way it was.

At least his hard on had flagged a little. Bull was able to pull his skivvies back on without too much discomfort.

That lasted until Johnny, still kneeling, buckled a garter belt around Bull's hips. It felt like a pair of hands holding him, and even with the obvious modifications to expand the width, the black silk of it against the olive drab of Bull's skivvies looked all wrong. The ties fell down across Bull's thighs and ass, teasing his skin every time he moved. Bull frowned down at it, then at Johnny, who had a silk stocking coiled in his hand, ready to slide onto Bull's leg.

Johnny was looking up at Bull with that edge of uncertainty that he'd worn before, like he wasn't sure if he was pushing too far, but didn't know how to ask either. Bull balanced on the sink with one hand and raised his leg. Johnny nodded slightly. The silk ran up Bull's legs like poured oil. Bull had never felt anything like it next to his skin. It seemed to make his skin ache to be touched as more than it covered him. Johnny's palms charged the silk as he ran over it, lighting Bull's skin up. He stared down at Johnny with parted lips, as Johnny ran his hands up and down Bull's legs, straightening seams, smoothing wrinkles, and finally buttoning them onto the garters.

It was like he was painting a new image of Bull, and Bull couldn't tell if it was one Johnny preferred, or if he was simply following his usual insistence that any job he did he was going to do right.

When both stockings were on, Bull rubbed his calves together again, not sure what to make of how they felt.

"You'll twist the seams," Johnny admonished. He was holding out Bull's trousers, and Bull stared for a moment before he realised that Johnny meant for him to put them on over the stockings.

He dressed quickly, his shaved skin felt too sensitive, like it had lost every protection against the world. Every brush of cloth against his chest or arms sparked a new sensation, and the silk against his legs only amplified all that. He could feel the garters shift against his thighs every time he moved. Bull tugged his belt tighter and pulled his socks over the stockings. Looking in the mirror, he couldn't tell. Bull was merely an especially clean-shaven trooper in his service uniform. The pink in his cheeks could be from any number of things.

Johnny unlocked the door and disappeared to find Miss Marshall. The waft of cool air from the rest of the house did something to settle Bull's head out. This was just dress up. The sexual charge flowing through all of it was because Bull could find watching Johnny eating toast sexually charged.

Miss Marshall followed Johnny back in a moment later, and if she noticed that Bull was blushing, she had that particular English response of pretending she didn't and chugging forward in a clatter of comments about the weather.

Bull was focusing so hard on not looking at her that it took him a minute to realise that she'd changed since she'd let them in before. She was dressed in the enlisted Class As of a sergeant in the paratroopers, which Bull suspected, eyeing her up, were _Johnny's_ Class As, though she wasn't wearing any boots. Her dark hair was tucked up in a way that made it disappear under the garrison cap. Bull wanted to say she shouldn't wear that indoors, but wouldn't dream of spoiling the effect.

"Didn't know Prince Charming was in the Airborne," Bull commented, and she grinned.

"He is now, isn't he?" She said. "Now, let's get you done up proper. She was a little taller than Johnny, but more slender, making the uniform jacket too loose in the shoulders at the same time as it pulled across her breasts. She stood on her toes to look Bull in the face, eyeing him critically. "You're a tall one, aren't you?" she said. Bull shrugged, feeling awkward, and didn't answer. "Well, you better sit on the edge of the tub. Don't want my arms going numb. Like that, and tip your face up. Yes, perfect. That's lovely."

Johnny had an array of paints and powders in his gunny sack, more black market booty, Bull assumed. Miss Marshall worked deftly with all of them, spreading some kind of cream over Bull's face and then powdering over it. her fingers were light, but not as light as Johnny's. Bull mostly kept his eyes closed and stayed as still as he could. Some of those pencils were wickedly sharp, and pressed hard along the edge of his eyelid and the boundary of his lips. Bull didn't know how women could stand to do this to themselves every day. His skin felt tacky from the paint, and he wanted to rub it off already.

"Ain't you going a bit heavy, miss?" Bull asked, when she put more powder on for what felt like the fourth time.

"Theatre makeup, Corporal Randleman," she said. "You have to be able to see it from fifty yards away."

"Don't argue with the expert, Bull," Johnny said, and Miss Marshall really must have made friends with him because she outright laughed at the hypocrisy of that.

Miss Marshall dabbed the tip of Bull's nose with the powder brush and stepped away, saying, "There you are, Corporal. All done. All right, John, you better sit too."

Bull wasn't sure if he wanted to look or not, but he supposed he might as well get it over with. He stepped aside to let Johnny sit down and went back to the mirror.

He saw someone else reflected there. He knew it was Bull Randleman from the wet blond curls and the crisp service uniform, but his face wasn't his. The skin was smooth as china, and painted like a doll's, with the blush across his cheeks more modest than the flush under all that paint. He had dark lines around his eyes, and smudges of purple and gold on his lids. His lips were a red that matched his dress and fuller than they'd ever been before. His eyebrows were darker and arched, and Bull had to peer at them to work out that she'd painted over his real eyebrows and drawn new ones on. Bull tried to close one eye to see the make up on it, but that just scrunched it up. Bull didn't think any of it looked real, including his hands when he held them up to touch his cheek. It was like some Hollywood effect, he thought.

He dropped his hands away, not wanting to disturb the paint, and looked again. If one ignored the hair and the army green, Bull supposed he was almost lovely. He wasn't some kind of great beauty, but he could have been one of the neighbour's girls done up for a night in town, the kind of girl you called handsome or pretty and meant it.

Only when Miss Marshall told Johnny she was done with him did Bull realise that he'd been staring at himself in the mirror for several minutes. He turned then, and looked at Miss Marshall and Johnny standing beside each other. Both in uniform, Johnny's face done up same as Bull's, Miss Marshall's bare of makeup save for dark lines around her eyes. It was enough to make a man dizzy, so Bull looked away.

It was about the time they'd been told to show up for costuming. Bull realised that they had another advantage: the church hall was right next to the Marshall house, so that if they kept their heads down, he and Johnny could slip in unseen. Bull held an umbrella over all three of them as they dashed.

The men were all changing in one storeroom, while the ladies had taken over the kitchen for the same. Most of the King's Guards and ruffians were already done, having simply belted a tunic over their uniforms and donned wooden swords. Webster was fussing with a threadbare velvet smoking jacket and tin crown, trying to get the latter to sit at a rakish angle. It kept falling into his eyes. Bull hoped it would do just that in the middle of the big speech Webster was so pleased with. Perco had an eyepatch, and before Bull could even open his mouth, he said, "It's in character," even though as far as Bull could remember, Perco didn't have a character.

The next thing Perco said was, "Hell, Bull, look at you!"

Johnny cut between them, and glared at Perco until he backed away two feet, bumping into Webster. Webster's crown fell into his eyes again.

The glare was enough to keep the guys off Bull while he changed into the dress. He hadn't been sure what they'd do about boots, but someone had rustled up a pair of ballet slippers sized for a giant. He put those on first, then stripped and started to find his way through the layers of skirts built into the dress. It felt different than it had the first time, but Bull wasn't sure if that was because his whole body felt different. When Johnny cinched the laces up, Bull realised that padding had been sown into the bosom and hips of the dress, giving Bull a figure.

The swish of skirts against Bull's stockinged calves was enough to make Bull shiver. If the dress had felt too draughty before, the loss of his leg hair had not improved matters. At least Johnny hadn't decided that Bull needed to shave his balls. Bull was pretty sure he wouldn't have gone that far, even for Johnny.

Johnny fussed with the set of the dress for a bit, then got Bull to lace him up as well. Bull gave an extra hard tug to make his point, but all that did was tighten it around Johnny's waist. narrowing it until Bull felt like he could put his hands around it. Something about the way the false hips tapered in and the strong line of Johnny's back muscles led down to his ass made Bull's mouth go dry.

"Wigs," Johnny said. They had little pins inside to hold them to your hair, but mostly the weight of hair and ribbons was supposed to hold them on. Bull ended up with a riot of red curls and orange ribbons, which he didn't think suited him any better than Johnny's blond and pink get up did, but the goal was to look silly. Or that had been the goal a couple weeks ago.

Bull could feel the others sneaking looks at him, and expected some kind of comment, but seemed like they had enough sense to keep clear of Johnny's wrath, and eventually filed out into the wings. Bull stayed, wanting to be alone the first time he saw his reflection. There was a dressing mirror in one corner, and it wasn't terribly well lit, but it gave Bull an idea, anyway.

He looked like a stranger. To be honest, he looked a little like his cousin Beulah, if her ma ever let her wear makeup. He had the same Randleman tilted nose and the wide cheeks, but the features that let him recognise himself weren't there. There was a woman standing in the mirror, moving when Bull moved, and it was the strangest damn feeling Bull had ever had. He felt like he had first time he'd tried to walk on the deck of the _S.S. Samaria_ after it left the shelter of the harbour and got into the open Atlantic.

Johnny was standing beside him, and he still looked like Johnny, or mostly like Johnny. It was probably the scowl, which no amount of lipstick could obscure. He glanced at his own reflection dismissively and then glanced up at Bull. He didn't seem to like what he saw, because he laid a hand on Bull's forearm. The beads on Johnny's glass pearl bracelet rattled as he moved, and Bull dragged his eyes away from the reflection of them standing next to each other to look Johnny right in the eye.

"Next time," Bull said, speaking slowly and taking care of his words, "do not spring all this on me."

Johnny nodded, looking a little contrite, as much as he ever did. Then he arched a painted eyebrow. "There's gonna be a next time?" he asked.

Bull reached down and palmed the front of Johnny's dress. He was half hard just from looking at Bull. The silky fabric slid over his dick when Bull jerked it. "Play your cards right, and there might be," Bull told him.

Unable to talk, Johnny nodded, a single dip of his chin. He cleared his throat. "Ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be," Bull muttered. He remembered how his ma had walked when she went into the one-room school to explain how the kids didn't mean no disrespect, they just didn't have money for shoes like the teacher said they had to wear: chin up, shoulders back, strides long and even, like she was the queen of Arkansas, gracing that draughty shack with her presence. Bull tried it, and had the stride of it before he got to the storage room door. Johnny followed half a step behind, slippered feet padding almost without a sound.

Bull would say one thing for his height: imperious disdain was easier when you topped six feet. He sailed out into the wings, looking down his nose at the rag tag bunch in their tunics and tin crowns. Someone wolf whistled; Bull ignored him. When he came face to face with Miss Marshall—now also wearing Johnny's jump boots—she bowed and Bull ducked his head. Mrs. Keller had showed them how to curtsy at one point, but Bull wasn't sure about trying it with the skirts twining around his calves.

Miss Marshall mimed the movement, and Bull copied her, crushing double handfuls of fabric in his fists. Fists that were broad, rough and a little grease stained, no matter how hard Bull scrubbed them. Miss Marshall took one of Bull's hands in her own, holding his fingertips lightly, and kissed the back of it. "Mademoiselle," she said, her voice artificially deep.

"Sir," Bull replied, though he'd never gotten the hang of falsetto like Johnny had, no matter how much he rehearsed.

"I'm sorry, Miss. You can't be..." Mrs. Keller broke off mid bustle, her ledger clutched to her chest. "Oh, my." She looked Bull up and down, then glanced at Johnny. Something passed between them, and Mrs. Keller pressed her lips and nodded to Johnny. She didn't say anything else, and by the time Bull turned, Johnny wore an intentionally neutral expression.

"Hmm," Bull said, but then Mrs. Keller was reminding them all of their places, and giving rapid fire advice that didn't seem like it'd help Bull at all. Bull was going to say all his lines and not tangle up in his skirts, and if he could do that, he was going to take that two-day to London and spend every minute it in bed.

"Break a leg," the actress playing Cinderella said as she went out.

"I hope not," Johnny muttered. Bull reached down and took his hand. Johnny's palm was rough and familiar against Bull's. Their cue came, they stepped out.


End file.
